


Talents

by tarysande



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarysande/pseuds/tarysande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian owes Hawke a debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talents

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Sebastian has a hidden talent from janiejanine on tumblr.

“So,” Hawke said, drawing the single syllable into at least thrice its usual length. “You were the only one who didn’t pay his debt.”

Sebastian paused, and hoped the pause looked less like a wince than it felt. He didn’t risk looking at her—he knew she’d either be smirking or scowling, and he wasn’t certain which he dreaded more. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re speaking of, Hawke.”

She laughed, and this time he couldn’t help the swift glance he sent over his shoulder. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded over her chest, looking for all the world as though she had nothing better to do and nowhere else to go. And she was definitely smirking.

He turned his attention back to his practice, but it was too late. With her watching and smirking and laughing, he knew every shot he attempted was going to fly wide, no matter how he steadied himself, and no matter how many times he berated himself for the inability to focus.

“I didn’t think you had such a faulty memory,” she teased. “And Maker knows you didn’t drink  _nearly_  enough to blame alcohol for your forgetfulness. Still, I’ll paint the picture if you like. Setting: The Hanged Man. Time: yesterday evening. Characters: everyone drinking copiously and playing cards except you. Well. You were in on the cards, but not on the drinking. More’s the pity. The stakes are high. For every loss—”

“Thank you, Hawke,” he interrupted. “I do remember all of that perfectly well.”

“ _Do_  you? So then you’ll remember the part where you lost miserably and didn’t pay up?”

Sighing, he unstrung his bow and stalked to the practice dummy to retrieve his arrows. “I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Oh, please,” she cried. “ _Everyone_  has a hidden talent, Sebastian. Anders has his electricity thing—”

“Hardly a secret at this point, though, the way Isabela speaks of it. Constantly.”

“And Bela can do that thing with her—”

“Hawke,  _please_.”

“And who knew Varric could dance the remigold? So gracefully! Not I, Sebastian Vael. Not I. You owe me a secret talent. You lost. I won. Fair’s fair.” 

Sebastian muttered a prayer for strength under his breath before turning to face her once more. Her mirth made her all the more bright, all the more glowing, and he felt the heat of a blush rising traitorously to his cheeks.

“Fine. I—I’m a… good baker.”

“It’s not a  _hidden_  talent if I already  _know_  about it, Sebastian.” She arched an eyebrow. “Which means other answers I won’t accept are: archery, singing, talking about the Maker, reciting the Chant, scowling judgmentally—” His jaw dropped, aghast, but she only snickered. “Just making sure you’re still listening. No one gives good judgmental scowl like you do.”

“And you?” he snapped, a little peevish. “Do you have something you’d like to admit to? In front of everyone you know?”

Hawke’s smile turned soft, almost gentle, and she pushed herself away from the wall, crossing the garden until she stood just a foot or two away from him. Too close, really. “I didn’t  _lose_ , though. And I think you’ll see no one else is here right now.”

“Then I fail to see why it  _matters_ , Haw—”

Before he could finish speaking her name, she’d closed the distance between them, one arm snaking around his waist to pull him close even as she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. And  _Maker_  it had been a long time, but Hawke’s kiss—just the right blend of heat and softness, of passion and playfulness; the way she used her tongue and the way, just when he wasn’t expecting it, she nipped lightly at his bottom lip—Hawke’s kiss was  _sublime._

So sublime it didn’t once cross his mind to consider pulling away or stopping her, vows or none.

“I’m a good kisser,” she whispered, her full lips only a hair from his. “And wouldn’t you know  _that’s_  a talent none of them’s familiar with.”

“Fine,” he repeated, voice rough and husky even to his own ears. “I have nimble fingers and a nimbler tongue. And I’m very good with  _knots._ ”

Before she could do more than blink up at him, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted in surprise, he lowered his mouth to hers again.

And wondered whether there weren’t other hidden talents he’d once had that were, perhaps, worth revisiting after all this time.


End file.
